Down Memory Lane
by ImNotStubborn
Summary: Future fic. Like, way in the future.


_This is me trying to beat writer's block_

 _Thanks to my beta Ethiercn_

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 **Down Memory Lane**

"See that picture? That's me and my husband, Patrick Jane. On our wedding day. I guess you've probably already heard of him, huh? Used to pretend to be psychic, then worked with the police to catch his family's killer whom he eventually killed? Oh come on, it was all over the news!

Well, it was a long time ago, I'll give you that. What was I saying?

Oh, right. Jane.

He's my husband. We got married when I was thirty-nine. Thirty-nine, can you imagine? I remember that day, as I was getting ready in his horribly small Airstream, thinking how weird it was for me to do that.

I felt so old, you know? So, so very old. And I was marrying the man I loved, sure, but I had no idea what the hell was going to happen next, for us, for my career, for this house he planned to build almost on his own.

Then I put my hand on my belly, knowing what was happening in there right that moment. And I though hey, maybe I wasn't so old after all.

I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't a shotgun wedding, God no! Jane didn't even know. Not that I was afraid he would only marry me for that, or that he'd run away. No, I knew how much he loved me. But I wanted it to be a surprise.

He was, as you must know, annoyingly good at reading people. But I like to think after so many years close to him, I'd gotten very good at reading him too. I knew he'd be thrilled before he knew it himself.

And oh, you should have seen the look on his face when I told him! Eyes sparkling, tears threatening to spill, mouth hanging half-open with words he couldn't find. Now _that_ was something! Shutting Patrick Jane up? Not many people can brag they've ever done it.

God, I loved him so much.

I… There's… Some days, I forget that… that he's not around anymore. Those days, I think the pain is too strong for me to handle. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest all over again, and I miss him so much I can't breathe.

But then… Ah, look, here it is, on that table over there. I see that little blue cup of tea he loved so much, or I smell the orchids you always bring me, or I go watch a little TV and there's a guy wearing a three piece suits… And I feel better.

Isn't it silly?

I still can't believe that we got together, after, oh Lord, how many years of dancing around it again? There were people betting on our relationship before we even had one, for Pete's sake!

But I'm thankful for every single moment of the decades we shared.

Well... most of them, really.

Dear God, remember how he drove me insane, sometimes? He never stopped being his infuriating self, even after we got married! He did behave himself a lot more at work, that was nice. But outside the Bureau? He was out of control.

I have to admit it wasn't all bad though. For example, that one time when we were on our honeymoon… it was really just a few days after this picture was taken, we were still in bed and… What? Oh! Right, you probably don't want to hear that story! I'm sorry, honey.

My point is, this was one of the most beautiful days of my life. And your father was an incredible man. Not perfect. But incredible."

There's a long pause when she's done, and then she looks up at me and gives me her sweetest smile, the one that makes me forget she used to be a cop and boss people around for a living. She finally, a little reluctantly, hands me the wedding picture I grew up admiring, and I look at it for a while, amazed as always by how much I look like them both.

"You're pretty incredible too, mom for putting up with him. You really are," I say, only half-joking, trying to talk around the tears I won't shed in front of her.

She blushes a little at my compliment and shrugs, and I reach for her hand.

"I miss him too," I say quietly, and she squeezes my fingers gently.

I look around for the clock and realize it's getting late.

"I have to go home now, mom. I'll come back tomorrow after work, okay?"

She nods and hugs me fiercely when I stand up – she's still freakishly strong for a woman her age. I put down the photo so she's facing it and sure enough, she immediately goes back to staring at it with nostalgia.

I start walking slowly towards the exit, lost in thoughts. I love it when she's in such a chatty mood. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's like I can see her old self standing in front of me again.

She's been losing it a little lately, and sometimes – like when she started talking today – I'm not sure she remembers who I am. Sometimes I think she's just too busy thinking about her past to realize she's actually talking.

Putting her in a home was a hard decision, but she was the one who asked me to do it about three years ago.

She was living with me at the time; it was right after dad passed away and I didn't want her to be alone in my isolated childhood home, so far from the rest of the family, in case something happened. I'll always remember her face when she caught me making out on the living room couch with some stranger I'd picked up in a bar.

She'd left right away, but the next day, she had wordlessly, with a very disapproving look in her eyes and her lips pinched tight, handed me a couple of nursing home addresses and my car keys.

I let out a chuckle, as I always do when I think about where my own legendary stubbornness comes from, and gather my coat more tightly against me to protect myself from the cold.

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 _It was weird picturing a very old Lisbon, but I tried. Tell me what you thought!_

 _Also, I always forget to mention the anonymous reviewers so whoev_ _er you are and whichever story of mine you reviewed, thank you! I can't answer you directly but I really appreciate any feedback I get :)_


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